Twelve Hours with Him
by Jenny7
Summary: Lawrence and Adam are still in the bathroom, left for dead by Jigsaw. This is how they spend their last twelve hours. Lawrence/Adam friendship and possibly more.
1. Chapter 1

Twelve Hours with Him

Disclaimer: I do not own Saw or any of the characters involved in it.

The first two hours passed quickly. We talked about everything. It was a grim game of twenty questions that I knew wouldn't really make any difference twelve hours from now. Though, it did serve a purpose in settling Adam and keeping him from thinking about the inevitable. He was like a child, interested and frightened, both at the same time, by our ill-fated situation. I knew that I wasn't ready to answer the tough questions just yet. I didn't think I could stand to watch his hopeful posture diminish before my eyes as I told him the process of dehydration. Cynical as he was, I could see the heart inside of him hoping against all hope that somebody, anybody, would come to rescue us. His eyes would drift towards the door every so often – waiting for the SWAT team to come barging in with handfuls of water bottles and donuts.

That was his favorite food – donuts. The kind with the chocolate on top.

And when I would notice this subtle movement I would quickly change the topic. That was how I learned that his favorite ice cream flavor was chocolate chip. His favorite horror movie was Friday the Thirteenth but his favorite movie of all time was Rebel Without a Cause. He had a James Dean photograph in his dark room to inspire him. He drove a motorcycle that could only go a few blocks without stalling and therefore found it easier just to walk everywhere.

I also learned that his brother had died of a drug overdose just two weeks before he woke up in a dirty bathtub in a real live shithole.

The thing about Adam is that he can make you want to punch him one minute and the next you will melt at the mercy of his sad brown eyes. Adam is sad. He is also scared and vulnerable. And all he has to help him through this is me.

I fought. I fought hard. So did Adam. He begged me for what felt like hours on end for me to throw the only working saw his way so that he could cut his foot off and be free. Don't get me wrong; I considered doing the same thing when I heard the sound of my wife's tears. I was so close I could taste my own blood.

But then, he said something that made me look away from the poorly tied tourniquet on my ankle. He was crying and reaching out to me as hard as that chain would allow. He was crying so hard that he could barely speak. But the three words I heard brought me out of my psychosis.

I need you.

So many people needed me. My wife needed me. My daughter needed me too. I felt more helpless than ever in my entire life. But I'm a surgeon. When I feel helpless I pick up the scalpel and do what I can with what I have. I may not be able to cure cancer, but I can cut the tumor that is in front of me. I can cut what I can see.

My wife and daughter were far away. Too far for me to crawl to on one good leg and certainly too far for my blood supply to hold out. But Adam was in front of me. And he needed me too.

So here we are, abandoned by the rest of the world. They will never find us before our meager water supply runs out. I know this. Adam does too, somewhere in that head full of M.A.S.H reruns.

That's right, M.A.S.H is one of his favorite TV shows.

So I listen to him describe his favorite episode to me -sound effects and all. Because Jigsaw is gone. And we've been left behind to die.

I'll listen for as long as it keeps Adam from being afraid. Because he needs me to.


	2. Chapter 2: Ten Hours

Disclaimer: This story contains characters and dialogue from the move Saw. I do not own Saw and claim no rights to it, even if it is my all time favorite horror film.

Warning: This story contains language that may not be suitable to some readers. It is rated Teen for a reason.

Ten Hours with Him…

We're going to die. We're going to fucking die and he wants to know what kind of ice cream I like. I can't believe that we're here. Or that we're never going to leave this shit hole. There has to be help coming, there just has to be.

I asked him that. I asked him when he thought the cops would come barging in. He said he thought it should be any minute now and then abruptly started talking about scary movies.

I was beginning to think this doctor was more delusional than Jigsaw himself.

This doctor. Dr. Gordon. Lawrence. He was like all the people I'd ever photographed. He was clearly rich if you went by those expensive suits he wore when he visited his mistress. He had an ego bigger than that huge mansion he lived in. He was the kind of person who didn't look twice at somebody like me unless it was to shoo me out of the way of his Ferrari.

That was the story my camera told. My camera can't lie, it doesn't know how.

But my camera wasn't here in this shit hole with us. My camera didn't meet Lawrence when he was chained to a pipe knowing that his wife and daughter were in danger and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. It didn't meet him when he realized that we weren't going to make it out of here and still pretended that there was hope, for my sake.

It didn't see the man who put down that saw and stayed with me because I needed him to.

I met that Lawrence.

I'd never met anybody like him -anybody who could make me less angry just by speaking. The way his voice sounded when I'd first woken up in that God forsaken bathtub, when it was still pitch black, it was like that Who song that I listen to when I have a shittier day than usual – "Baba O'Riley". It made me less afraid just because it existed on the other side of the room. Then there was the moment when he asked me what my name was. I gave a smart-ass retort of course, it's what I do. But truthfully, there aren't many people who bother to ask my name. Or ask me about stupid things like ice cream and my opinion of Friday the Thirteenth part one compared to the second or third movie.

My opinion doesn't matter. But it does to him. And I sure as hell can't figure out why.

Maybe it's because we are dying. Maybe it's because we'll be a pair of dried up raisons before the next sunrise.

Or maybe it just doesn't matter why.

I'm scared shitless. I don't want to die no matter how much I may deserve it. And his stupid questions make me forget about being scared for a while.

Even if he doesn't agree that The Who is the best band ever.


	3. Chapter 3: 8 Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own Saw or any of the characters in it.

8 Hours…

We tried everything. Adam turned the faucets in the bathtub every which way until he completely broke them off and then had a tantrum for ten minutes – throwing both knobs at me and narrowly missing my head once. He didn't do it on purpose. Adam is just angry- angry with himself and Jigsaw and sometimes I can't figure out which one pisses him off more.

There was the toilet too. When I suggested that we attempt to filter the liquid in the toilet, see if any of it was actually drinkable, Adam laughed at me. It was meant in sarcasm, sure, but I have to admit that it was nice to hear him laugh. I thought it would most likely be the first and only time that I heard that sound.

He paced after that. Back and forth for a long time. He would walk as far as the chain would allow him and then back again. Every now and then he would pull on the chain as hard as he could and scream out obscenities. I just sat there – watching and waiting until he grew tired and fell to the floor. He held his head in his hands and cried. I'd known Adam for approximately twelve hours but the sound of his sobbing was enough to make me want to hold that saw to my foot again just so that he might have a chance of breaking free of our bathroom shaped cage.

He was so young. He could turn his life around. Why couldn't Jigsaw just see that he could still make up for his wrong doing? Adam was fixable. Adam could take this experience and make his life better. He loves photography. He shouldn't have to die in a room without his camera.

After the sobs stopped he was quiet. I'd never heard Adam that quiet before. Even when he wasn't talking he made noise. The way he stomped around loudly, even with bare feet, or the way he fidgeted with anything he could find just to do something. Adam was always surrounded by noise, but not now.

Fearing the worst, I lost it. I stretched forward as far as I could and reached to the tips of my fingers. I screamed. I told him to get the fuck up and talk to me. I pleaded with him to stay with me. I just wanted a noise from him, any noise. Even the sobbing would be a relief. Adam couldn't die. I wouldn't let him die yet. He needed me but it wasn't until that moment that I knew I needed him. In the last twelve hours I had to accept the fact that wife and daughter might be dead. I had to accept the fact that, even if they weren't, I would never see them again. I was not ready to accept the loss of Adam.

Whatever he was to me.

Then, he moved. It started out slowly. First, his index finger and then the rest of them. He raked them through his black hair – now slightly whitened by the plaster mess throughout the bathroom. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands before lifting his face towards me.

Then, he spoke in a voice that cracked with emerging fear and the usual annoyance that accompanied Adam's tone.

"Fuck Lawrence, I'm not dead yet."

And I laughed. I laughed hard. Adam thought that I had lost my mind but I didn't care. He could still think and breathe and talk and be annoyed and I could still listen to it all.

We were still alive.

_Thanks for all of the reviews. __ I just started getting back into Saw and writing fanfiction. I just couldn't resist after watching these two adorable guys together again. _


	4. Chapter 4: 6 Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own Jigsaw, Adam, Lawrence, or any of them.

Rated T for mention of drug use and, of course, foul language as I can't write Adam without it.

_Thanks for all the great reviews everyone! And yea, I'm starting to think that even I don't have the courage to let my two favorite guys die…there might be a chance of a rescue in their future…. _

"Hey Lawrence…"

"I'm right here, Adam."

I can't focus on him anymore. He may be only a few feet away but that may as well be Brazil for all it fucking matters now. Every few minutes I have to call out to him, just to make sure that he's still listening. Because things are starting to happen and he's a doctor and so what if he can't reach me to make me better, so what if he can't produce a can of coke out of thin air, he's still a doctor and he's still Lawrence.

"Lawrence…"

I say it again. Because I just have to be sure. I want to tell him what's happening to me. I want to tell him that the room is blurry and that I feel like my head is about to float off of my body. I feel like I'm stoned but without the actual buzz and oh how I could go for a fucking joint right now….

"Yes, Adam?"

I won't tell him that though. Not just the part about the joint, the other parts too. Because he's a surgeon and he likes to fix things. He can't fix my eyes from over there and he sure as hell can't make my head stop spinning. There is no point in telling him because it will only make him worry like he did when I tried to get some sleep. All I wanted to do was take a fucking nap, because I am so tired, but he won't let me. Every time my eyes even begin to close he starts asking me about stupid shit like my childhood and did I have any brothers or sisters.

I don't talk about that shit. Ever. To anyone.

For some reason, though, I think that I might have talked to him about it. One day. If we weren't dying.

"Adam?"

There's his voice again, starting to panic. Must have let myself blink for too long.

The thing about dying is that your brain starts to do things you don't want it to do. Like ask stupid questions to the guy you really don't want to look stupid in front of. Even if you don't know why he's that important to you when you've known him less than a day.

"Lawrence, what do you think hell is like?"

The look he gives me is just as confused as if I'd told him about the joint. But the question seems to process quickly and then he just looks at me like I'm some scared little kid asking about where my dead goldfish goes when its flushed down the toilet bowl.

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Adam." His tone makes me feel warm inside, even though I seem to be getting colder by the minute. I hide my shivering hands in my bloodstained shirt.

"I'm not…really." I watch the impression of my hands inside of my now nearly see through t-shirt. I can't look at his eyes when my brain won't shut the hell up. "I saw this thing once, one of those documentaries, and it was talking about the different levels of hell and how there are different levels of punishment are for all of the sins."

There is a pause before he answers.

"Documentary? You don't strike me as the documentary type, Adam." There is humor in his voice and I can't stop the smile from forming on my face. He was right, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

"Haha, very funny." And I remove one of my fingers from my T-shirt just for him. "It was at some chicks house, alright? We were getting stoned and…" Oh God, now I'm talking about joints too. Shut the fuck up brain… "I don't know man. I mean, there could be something to that shit right?"

He shifts into a more comfortable position, if there is one of those on a moldy bathroom floor when you're chained to a pipe, and sighs.

Here comes the lecture.

"You're not going to hell Adam. Hell is reserved for people like Jigsaw -people who kill innocent people or watch them die without even trying to do anything about it." I looked up at him and we make eye contact for the first time since I started this conversation. "You're not one of those people."

It's my turn to shift positions now. My feet are going numb. I run my tongue over my dry lips once even though my mouth is just as dry.

"You just met me Lawrence, how do you know I'm not some fucked up crazy psychopathic Unabomber?" This makes him laugh – the kind of laugh that makes his eyes light up. I like making people laugh, but I especially like making Lawrence laugh.

"Unabomber? Somehow I just can't picture that." I smile and push my hands further into my T-Shirt. I can't remember the last time I was so cold.

He's looking at me now, in a way that makes me warm again. I drop my eyes before he sees me blush.

"You saved my life, Adam. Zepp was going to shoot me, he was going to kill me. And you saved my life."

For the first time in awhile I notice the dead body in between us. The real dead body- not the guy pretending to be a dead body. The guy that I killed with a toilet lid. I know that I didn't have a choice. Lawrence had told me to play dead, told me not to move no matter what happened. I couldn't do it though. I couldn't just lie there and listen while some beady eyed freak murdered my…my…whatever he was and is to me.

But now I'm a murderer too, just like Jigsaw. Next stop – hell.

"You're a hero, Adam." Lawrence spoke in his still peaceful voice, contradicting my own out of control brain. "What did your documentary say about heroes?"

I stop to think about it. Truth is, I was pretty high so I don't remember much past the monsters eating peoples brains and eternal pits of fire. And I'm fairly sure it got boring once they started talking about the heaven stuff…

I give my most smug smile and shrug. "That they all go to heaven?" Oh wait, I think that's dogs. My brain really is fucked.

Lawrence laughs. I'm starting to wonder if he can read my thoughts. I get my answer when he balls up his long sleeved shirt and throws it in my direction.

"You're shivering."


	5. Chapter 5: 4 Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own this adorable couple. But I do play with them from time to time.

4 Hours…

I kept thinking about Diana. Diana without a father- or at least her real father. I figured that Alison would find somebody to take my place soon enough. I kind of suspected she already had. Funny thing about that was that it didn't even really bother me. We'd fallen out of love long ago. It was all about Diana now, all about doing what was best for her.

If she was ok. If that son of a bitch hadn't killed her yet.

I felt myself drifting off. The effects of not eating or drinking in so long were starting to set in. I was dizzy and my mouth was severely dry. I was so exhausted that I could have closed my eyes and never woken up. But not with Adam still here. He'd made me promise that I wouldn't die before him because he was too scared to die alone. He hadn't said the last part, but I inferred. Adam was the ultimate loner who hated to truly be alone. It could have been the dehydration affecting his brain, but his walls were starting to crack and I began to see through to who he really was. The more I saw the more attached I felt to him. The more I wanted to protect him.

"Adam?"

It had been several minutes since I'd heard him. At least I thought so. I'd lost all track of time.

When he didn't answer me, I forced my head up and looked towards the far corner of the bathroom. He was there and he was holding the cigarette from the box. He held it between two fingers and twirled it around and around, staring at it with an absent, almost tired, expression.

"Adam, are you ok?" I can hear the concern in my own voice. It scares me that I have the same level of concern for this kid, who I barely know, as I do for my own daughter. Especially since I know that he probably won't live much longer.

He continues to stare at the cigarette as he leans against the bathtub. His eyes look different to me, dark and sunken. It takes me a moment to see it, but I know what's different. This isn't the Adam that came into this bathroom. This isn't the Adam who followed me, took pictures of me, lied to me, tore at the chain until his fingers bled, killed the man who was about to kill me. This isn't that Adam.

This is not Adam at all. Adam has checked out and this is what was left after he gave up the fight. I know what happens to a sick patient after they give up, stop fighting. Adam is a fighter. He kicks and screams and throws things and while that may appear adolescent it is also what keeps him breathing.

I sit upright abruptly, ignoring the searing pain in my ankle as the shackle tightens.

"Adam, talk to me." There's that concern again. I need to get his attention, somehow.

But, he does nothing.

"Say something right now. I need to know that you're ok." I try my 'mean voice', as Diana calls it. It's the one I use with her when she does something wrong and I need to put her in time out.

Still nothing. He's still holding that damn cigarette and…nothing. I start to wonder if he is gone. If his body has just shut down from the dehydration and he has just….stopped. I feel a horrible pain in my chest at the very idea. Adam can't be gone. The realistic side of me knows that he can. The doctor in me knows that it is likely. He is smaller than I am. He has been deteriorating faster all along.

But no, he just can't be gone. Because maybe we'll get out of here and then what will I do if he's gone?

"Dammit Adam!" I'm yelling now, as loud as my voice possibly can. "You look at me and you fucking talk to me! You are not giving up yet. You told me not to die and now I'm telling you not to die. Fucking look at me!"

He looks at me. His eyes rise up from the cigarette in front of them and he looks at me. Something changes then. His eyes aren't as dark and there is a tinge of shine in them.

When he talks it's calm and his voice is so low I have to focus to hear him.

"Fucking cigarettes don't kill. My mom smoked like a fucking chimney and she's still out there getting herself arrested." Then, after gathering up the strength, he flings the cigarette at the dead body in the middle of the room. "Fucking cigarettes don't kill you, being chained in a shit hole bathroom will kill you." He pauses. I relax. When he swears I know that it's really him and not an empty shell.

What he says next takes me off guard completely.

"I don't want to die Lawrence." I hear him breaking again. It's not like before, not like when he used every ounce of his strength pulling on that chain and then sobbed himself to sleep. It's a different kind of breaking. His walls have no foundation to stand on anymore.

He would be crying if he weren't too dehydrated to produce tears.

I move myself into a full sitting position and look at him, really look at him. This is Adam, uncensored. This is who he is. A scared kid who, in the end, really does like being alive.

"OK. Then we won't." I use my calm voice. The one I use when Diana has a nightmare and I have to chase the bad man away.

He looks up at me, hopelessness in every cell of his body. And he gives me a sarcastic laugh, the one I like. He has his head in his hands and is currently wrapped in the long sleeved shirt I gave him. He still shivers though-he always shivers.

I look at him and put on my best "It'll be ok" smile.

"Really, let's not. Let's live. So what do you want to do tomorrow?"

I have to believe it if he is going to. He takes his cues from me. I'm the one who knows how this works. I'm the one who knows what the human body can live through. I gave up, so he gave up. I only have myself to blame for almost losing him.

I refuse to lose him again.

He's looking at me now. Really looking at me. I see a sparkle of something in those brown eyes. I know that it is the life returning to him, the spark that makes him Adam. It makes me smile, an honest real smile, for the first time in awhile.

He leans back against the bathtub again, arms resting on his knees. He levels his gaze with mine and I see the challenge that always lies in his stares.

"I want a fucking hamburger." He does not entirely believe me yet, but he's playing along. I see the goofy child in him emerge and it warms me. "with fries. No, with onion rings. No, both!" He points at me for emphasis.

I laugh out loud and shake my head. As if anyone would deny him after the hell he's been through. I don't think I could deny that sarcastic smile even on a good day.

The thought surprises me, but I let it flow. Nothing matters now except for getting him out of here, somehow.

"OK. Both. My treat."

He nods. The glimmer of hope is back. Adam is back.

Then, he poses a question to me.

"So what are we doing after lunch?"


	6. Chapter 6: 2 Hours

Disclaimer: I don't anything Saw related and the rest of my usual schpeal.

_Thank you to everyone for the reviews again! I also would like to say that I've been reading a lot of chainshipping stories lately and am awed by the talented writers out there. You have me glued to the screen with all of the Adam/Lawrence love! So, I really wanted to wait awhile before posting this but after an hour long writing marathon I couldn't resist. Hope you all enjoy. _

There are little balls of light dancing around Lawrence's head. Sometimes his hair turns black and that fucking chain holding him down becomes a long arm that is growing out of the pipe and clenching its tight fist around his ankle. And sometimes my own foot shrivels up and falls off and then I am free to go get help, for both of us.

These are the things that my eyes see. They scared me at first, like when the cigarette I was holding turned into a severed finger. I wasn't sure what to think of it. I knew it was real. It had to be. I could see the blood that remained on my hand even after I tossed it aside. I knew it was real, but then it wasn't. Lawrence's voice broke through my lying eyes and showed me the truth, that it was only a cigarette and that my brain is completely fucked.

That I am completely fucked. Next step after hallucinations is hell, right? Gotta be.

But maybe we'll get out of here. Maybe we'll get a chance to have lunch together and then maybe catch that movie Lawrence suggested. And maybe I can show him the photograph I took of the twin towers before they fell -the one that was on the cover of Time magazine. The last decent photo I ever took.

_What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror? _

They see a deadbeat photographer who couldn't take a picture of anything beautiful after that day.

But for some reason I want him to see it. I want him to see that there is more to me than this fucked up, lying, sarcastic, loser in front of him.

"Adam?"

That's right, he asked me a question. I was too distracted by the rainbow of colors swirling around him to remember to answer.

"Uh…I used to. I mean, I worked at a photography studio for a while. Just an internship, nothing major." I pause. The colors aren't as bright. He almost looks normal for a second and something else -he actually looks interested. He wants to know about me. That's a first for most anybody I meet.

I look down and pretend to be fidgeting with my chain. Really, I'm just trying to keep my foot from shriveling up again. Actually, I'm just trying to keep from meeting his eyes. If I meet his eyes I'll tell him- about the photo, about me, everything.

Then, I hear him laughing. At first I wonder if I'm just hallucinating again and dread looking up to see what is in that corner instead of him, Lawrence, the guy who is my friend and maybe more...

But when I do, I just see him. I see his laughing face with blue eyes so bright I can glimpse them clearly from all the way in my corner of the bathroom. He is looking at me and shaking his head back and forth in amusement. I have a talent for amusing people that usually pisses me off. But I don't mind when it's Lawrence I am amusing.

"Adam, haven't I told you you're a horrible liar?"

I feel a smile cracking and, for once, I don't resist it. Why do I bother trying with this guy? He can see straight through me anyway, and not in the same fucked up way I can see straight through him and into his bones right now – fucking hallucinations.

He stops laughing and looks at me in such a way that I feel myself blush. I don't blush, ever. It's not my style and I certainly have had no reason to in a long time. But I feel him now. He's looking through me and into my soul and he sees that my heart is beating faster just because of him.

I am so fucked.

Because just like that I know. Lawrence is my last sunset over central park. He is the last beautiful shot I snap before the destruction comes. My last memory before the darkness sets in.

Because even if the SWAT team does break through that door and save us he is the beautiful thing I will remember. I don't need anything else. I can go back to my shit hole apartment and remember Lawrence actually giving a damn about me, and be ok.

I'm not sure what makes me ask the next question. Maybe it's the fact that my brain is dried up like a raison and cannot stop me from asking stupid things anymore. Maybe it's the site of my shriveled up foot on the ground next to me, again. But it comes out just like anything else that has been said today, between us two sinners in this fucked up bathroom purgatory.

"Lawrence, when we get outta here, if I'm not bat shit crazy by then, I was thinking about maybe showing you something. Something I haven't really showed anybody in a long time. Would you mind…I mean…you know if I'm still…" I'm choking on my words. Damn my throat is so dry.

I hear him scoot closer towards the middle of the room. I'm still focusing on the severed foot next to me. Even that is better than meeting his eyes when I've just crossed the line that my working brain would have covered with a concrete wall and smashed my face into a few times for emphasis.

I knew I was fucked.

"If you're still alive, you mean?" Its not the usual concern that I hear in his voice. It's a strong voice, a confident voice. And it never cracks, not once, unlike mine.

I just nod in response. I still can't look at him, even though the foot is starting to evaporate into thin air again.

Fucking hallucinations can't even stay around when I need them to.

"You will be alive, Adam. We'll both be alive. And I can't wait to see what you want to show me."

He sounds so…positive. So sure. It's like he knows it will happen- like were not both chained to pipes in a shitty bathroom with little hope for rescue. Like this is a different world where we just bumped into each other at some bar and now we're making plans for the future.

Our future, maybe.

Shit, I'm so fucked.

I finally dare to look up. The foot is long gone and, strange as it sounds, I feel crazy looking at a pretend hallucination when there are plenty of real ones to stare at. And those blue eyes, I could stare at those too.

He's looking at me with them right now actually. And they're happy. They're not angry with me for crossing the line. They're just as kind as they were before, maybe even loving.

I smile at him and I know that he sees it- see's me.

Even if his hair is turning green again.

Even if there was just an explosion somewhere in this building and our bathroom has suddenly become pitch black.


	7. Chapter 7: The End

Disclaimer: I don't own them or anything Saw related.

_Thanks again for all the kind reviews, everyone. I'm so glad everyone has enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's been a long journey for the boys –being stuck in that bathroom this whole time. Well they're finally getting out…you'll just have to read on to see how! Don't worry, though, I still have one more chapter planned after this. I never end a story without an epilogue…_

The alarms are so loud that I can't even hear my own voice. I know that I am shouting. I am shouting so loud that my already sore throat aches even more. I am shouting so loud that I wasn't even sure if it was coming out the same way as it sounded in my head.

I just keep thinking his name and hope that my voice responds to my thoughts affirmatively.

Adam.

I keep shouting it over and over with nothing but a half a breathe in between. My hands are clamped so tightly against my ears to protect myself from the deafening echo of the blast.

Adam.

He must be ok. If I'm ok then he must be ok, right? I have to convince myself of this. I can't loose it, not now. I can't loose it and have him loose it too. Because something is happening outside of that sliding door and whatever it is he's going to need my help to get through it.

Adam.

And if that son of a bitch Jigsaw has laid one hand on him I swear I will use that saw to do exactly what he intended, just so that I can live long enough to gut him alive.

* * *

Lawrence you'd better not be dead.

Lawrence you'd better not be dead.

Lawrence you'd better not be dead.

Oh god, it hurts so bad.

Lawrence you'd better not be dead.

He'd better be ok. Because I sure as fuck don't want to die, or live, without him.

And I have to show him that photograph. I have to show him so many things…

And oh fuck does my head hurt.

"Lawrence!"

I know it comes out that time. I know that it's not just in my head because I think that is the last time I will ever speak. I shout it so loud that I'm sure my voice will never come back again. But that's ok, because he had to hear me, right?

Lawrence you'd better not be dead…

It's so loud. Whatever the fuck that noise is it's so loud.

And why is somebody stabbing my eardrums with needles? Maybe this is hell. Maybe this is one of those levels of hell where they punish you for lying and doing drugs and having premarital sex…with other men.

Oh fuck, I'm in hell.

I try to shout his name again but all I can manage is a noise that sounds like a dying squirrel after you hit it with your car.

I clamp my hands down upon my ears and curl up on the floor. It's so dark. So fucking dark in here.

Lawrence, help me.

I can only think the words and hope that Lawrence can hear them, somehow.

* * *

I'm on my hands and knees now, crawling around like a helpless toddler and searching for anything that can give me a clue to what just happened to us. I can't hear him, can't hear anything other than that piercing alarm, and I have the strong urge to tear my hair out in frustration.

What the hell does he want from us? From me? How am I supposed to save Adam if I can't even see if he's ok? How am I supposed to help him if I can't even reach him?

And he hates the dark. I can only imagine how scared he must be….if he's ok enough to be scared that is.

Oh God, please let him be ok.

I feel my way around the floor, bypassing the stray pieces of tile and stone. I stumble on something and my hand slips from under me. Upon recovering, I find that it's the box- the box with the supposedly nonpoisonous cigarettes inside.

How could I have given him that cigarette? It could have easily been poisonous…just because Jigsaw promised didn't mean anything. I'm a doctor, I should have known better.

Adam, please don't be dead.

I am startled by the sound of my own breathe in my lungs as I continue to shuffle along the floor, the chain dragging behind me. It's all I can hear with the noise of the alarm still reverberating in my eardrums. It's so loud and the only advantage I can think of is that the rest of the world will likely hear it before whoever or whatever is outside that door reaches us.

Then, I hit a wall. I feel the loose tiles and grout fall onto my head and drop to the floor in exhaustion. My muscles want to stop. My arms and legs are giving in.

I won't give up. I can't. He needs me not to give up. But I'm so angry and all I can think about is that saw and how it would feel against the skin on my ankle. How it would feel to be able to crawl over to his side, foot or no foot, and tell him that he will be ok.

How I want to tell him that over and over for the rest of our lives.

"Adam."

It comes out in a desperate, pleading, whisper.

I can't hear him, but I know he's there. I know that he's calling out to me and asking me to save him.

I know that he needs me.

I know, now, that I need him.

That's why I get up off the floor and feel my way up the wall, until I find the light switch.

* * *

It's so dark. I fucking hate the dark.

It's like that time my best friend in first grade locked me in the janitors closet in school and took the light bulb with him. It wasn't until the next morning that they found me. Mom didn't even know I was gone and she was too busy scoring drugs to care anyway. No one really cared. I could have disappeared off the face of the earth and no one would have cared.

I did disappear off the face of the earth. I was abducted by Jigsaw and chained to a rusty pipe in this shit hole. I would be willing to bet that nobody is even missing me right now. Well, except for my landlord that is. I'm two months overdue on my rent. Guess that jackass will never see his money now.

Lawrence.

I think I'm saying his name. I'm not sure though. It's hard to tell when your voice is only a whimper and the ringing in your ears is so painful that you're actually considering digging out your eardrums with your bare hands for a second of relief.

Lawrence.

He would miss me. He's the first person who I actually believe would give a damn if I vanished completely. He might actually be the first person who really, honestly, bullshit aside loves me.

He might be.

Oh fuck, what if he's dead?

I feel my pulse begin to race again. Just when I thought I'd resigned myself to die of smoke inhalation. Just like Lawrence, he always has to keep me awake…keep me alive.

And all at once I'm angry -angry with Jigsaw, angry with myself, angry with Zepp, and angry with Lawrence. I'm angry with all of us. Because here I am chained to pipe in a building that just exploded and the man I love is dead.

Perfect. This is your life Adam Faulkner. Enjoy the last twenty minutes or so of it.

I take my hands off of my ears for the first time since the explosion. The ringing is bad either way and my eyes are so dry from the dust in this filthy place that they sting. I first brush my hands off on my already dirty jeans and then move to place them over my face.

My hands are cold. They feel good against my painful eyes.

And it's at that moment, only when my eyes are closed and my ears are open, that I hear him.

"Adam".

It's soft, barely audible. But it's Lawrence's voice. He sounds sad, scared, all things that Lawrence never is. He sounds defeated.

"Adam".

All of this time I've needed Lawrence. All of this time he's been there for me -coaxing me, waking me up, forcing me to believe that we would be rescued.

He is my only hope for a good and happy life. He is my sunset over central park.

Fuck if I'm going to let him give up on me now.

I gather all of my strength that I have left and deliver it to my vocal cords.

"Lawrence!"

It's loud – louder than that damn fire alarm. loud

"Adam?"

I hear him more clearly now. He's out there in the darkness somewhere.

"Lawrence I'm here." I hear my voice cracking – not because of fatigue but because of the sobs of relief that I feel welling up in my chest. He's alive. The man I love is alive. "Everything is going to be ok Lawrence."

"Adam, the lights aren't working. I can't see you." His voice is cracking in the same way that mine is. "Are you hurt?"

I force myself up on my two feet and pat myself down. No, I'm not hurt. No more than before anyway.

There is a noise outside, in the hallway. Lots of noise – people shouting and they're banging on our door.

They heard us. They're here to rescue us.

I smile to myself.

Hell, maybe we actually will get to have that burger and movie after all.

It's so dark, but there is light underneath the sliding door. The light shines through and onto the floor where I can see part of Lawrence -his whitish blonde hair. And his face, he is smiling too.

I step forward. Fuck these chains. I'm done with chains forever.

"No, I'm…."

It strikes me unexpectedly. Someone has punched me in the chest. At least that's what it feels like. But when I touch the place where it hurts I realize that it is covered in a sticky liquid.

And I'm suddenly feeling very dizzy, very sleepy, and I feel like I'm drowning.

"Adam!" It's Lawrence's voice. He sounds concerned again. I wish I could see that smile but the light is gone from his face. Now it's on me and there are men in black jump suits and helmets all around me.

And they have guns. Lots of guns.

I hear a vague commotion. Lots of feet, everywhere. They aren't withered either, like mine is. They are wearing big black boots that make a lot of noise- even more than that fire alarm did.

Lawrence is swearing at somebody and I suddenly feel very proud of him.

That's Lawrence, my Lawrence, swearing at somebody.

"You fucking idiot, can't you see he's chained!"

He's shouting my name now, telling me to stay awake. Not to die.

There is that light again, in my eyes, around the room. Small beams of light that strobe in circles, making me even dizzier.

It gets dark after that. I'm in the janitors closet again. Fuck, I hate the dark.

I close my eyes and see Lawrence's smile, bathed in light.

Then I feel the floor.

* * *

I finally get to hold his hand. I finally get to look into those brown eyes up close and see just how dark and wavy his hair really is. I didn't realize how thin he was from across the room. I tell myself that I'm going to have to make him eat more- take better care of himself. Maybe I can even make him quit smoking- or maybe not.

I'm not sure he would be Adam if he didn't smoke.

Adam. My Adam.

It's going to be a long road. But, while I'm holding his hand in this ambulance on the way to the hospital, I can't think of a better way to start this journey.

He wants to talk and he tries to take his oxygen mask off, but I hold it tightly to his face and smile as he rolls his eyes at me.

Stubborn Adam. My stubborn Adam.

"You're going to be ok Adam, it's just a flesh wound." He continues to fight against me and I finally know what he wants.

I use my free hand to smooth back his hair – still caked in sweat and plaster from the bathroom.

"Adam, it's ok. You don't have to say anything. I know. And I love you too."

Finally, he stops fighting me and I feel him reach for my hand again and squeeze it tightly.

He's ok after that. So am I. And I feel a sense of relief wash throughout me as I realize this.

We're both going to be ok -better than ok. Maybe even happy.


	8. Epilogue: 12 Years With Him

Disclaimer: I do not own Adam or Lawrence but that does not make me love them any less.

_OK…so it's a little long for an epilogue but I couldn't control myself. I've had this idea in mind almost since I started this story. Pure Lawrence/Adam cuteness with a little lusty goodness here and there. Hope you all enjoy and thanks again for reviewing. _

12 years later…

I am awake long before I open my eyes. I know that he has been up for awhile though he never dares to move until I wake up – at least not on days when he doesn't have to be at the hospital. I do my best to keep the smile from appearing on my face because then he will definitely know that I am not asleep and then he will acknowledge the day. It's not a bad day – but I have never been the most sentimental hallmark moment kind of guy. Lawrence always jokes that I am the most rebellious gay man he knows because I don't embrace my inner femininity or something. But I let him open the pickle jars and beer bottles and that's about as feminine as it gets for this gay man.

His arm tightens around my waste and he pulls me closer against his chest. I can't say that I don't love this moment – the one right before we both admit defeat and open our eyes. It's the warmest moment of my day.

And just because I say that does not make me an effeminate gay man. Nope, not all all.

"Hey." He sighs into my hair and I feel my body instinctively cuddle closer against his. "Happy anniversary."

* * *

He's adorable when he pretends to be asleep. Even more so than when he is actually asleep. It's funny, even though he's nearing forty, I still think of him as a kid in so many ways. He'll always be younger than me of course. And even though his hair isn't quite as dark anymore and his deep brown eyes have small lines framing them, his smile has not changed. He is also still a smart ass and has his moments of being so stubborn that I want to shake him until he comes to his senses.

But he also surprises me with his perseverance and strength. Like when he randomly decided to quit smoking last year. I never asked him to, not once. I knew it was something that he needed -especially in those years following our escape. In the brief conversation he would allow he told me that it was because of Diana, for Diana. Because she looked up to him and had just reached the age where she could legally smoke. And also because he knew that she did it in secret already. It was true, Diana loved him from the moment I brought him home with me. I guess that's why she's majoring in photojournalism now. I had secretly hoped she would want to become a doctor, like me, but it was her 'other dad' that she wanted to be like. I can't blame her, Adam is special and not even Jigsaw could pound that out of him.

It took a lot to get him to where he is now. There were the months of medical attention and physical therapy for his shoulder where that son of a bitch officer shot him. I still get upset about that. He may have been standing over Zepp's dead body but Adam is clearly no Jigsaw. He's just Adam, my Adam.

My Adam for twelve years now, as much as he hates to admit it. It's also hard for me to realize that the time has flown by so quickly. I've spent twelve years with Adam – ten as his husband. We have had every sort of moment that any couple in love has. There have been moments where I've loved him so much I feared it would break me. There have also been moments where we were inches away from calling it quits. Adam walked out on me once. I walked out right behind him and dragged him back in, kicking and screaming no less. We've fought until we had no voices left and cried until we were dry. I've held him through every Jigsaw nightmare and he's humored me with my obsessive need to know where he is and if he is safe at every given moment.

Jigsaw never left our minds. And he's even more prominent today, of all days. Twelve years since we fell in love. Twelve years since we were rescued from the bathroom. This is why he does not want to open his eyes yet. Not because it is our anniversary, but because it is also Jigsaw's.

So I pull him closer to my chest and feel his heartbeat against my hand. So strong - and resilient. I love to feel it because it tells me that he is still alive and still with me. It reminds me that we have, indeed, left that bathroom and that I got him out of there alive. That was and always will be the most important thing.

* * *

I finally let my eyes open and the day comes pouring in. I embrace the cold air as it shutters in my lungs and I feel an unconscious throbbing in my right shoulder. Lawrence's arm is there, but I know that it is the scar underneath that is throbbing. It always does on this day, of all days. It's the memory that makes it hurt.

It's hard to feel pain, though, when the man I love is squeezing me even tighter in his arms. And he doesn't have to work today. Which means that I can have my way with him in any way I please. I turn myself over until we are face to face under the covers. He is looking at me with those now wrinkled ice blue eyes. They are warm though, just as warm as they were twelve years ago today.

"Yea yea, happy anniversary." I mutter the words under my breath as I kiss him deeply on the lips. He responds in turn and suddenly I feel his hands move further down my waist – down to my boxer shorts. And then into them.

He always goes slow with me. Even when the lust is so strong in his eyes that I can't imagine how he holds out, he does. I've never been one to go slow. My entire life I have rushed into everything head first pistol flailing and carpe diem. Some days he lets me do that. Some days I get to be in control and I know that he enjoys it. But not on these days- on special days. On these days he wants me to go slow and every time he touches me it's as light as a feather. His feather touches drive me so crazy that I can hardly contain my need to pull his clothes off and feel him in and around me.

Our first time was different for me. I don't think I'd ever been with somebody who I really loved, and I'm certain none of them loved me. Casual sex was something I'd grown used to and Lawrence does not do anything casually. He forced me to wait for nearly a month after we'd been rescued- partially because of my shoulder but also because he wanted me to know that if and when we did take that step it would not be taken lightly. Lawrence -always so serious. It has been my god-given mission since we met to make him laugh as much as possible – even if it means making myself look like a complete fucking idiot.

He is my polar opposite but, somehow, that makes us work.

His tongue is on my ear now and he is whispering those words that always make me feel unworthy. I've never been able to shake that feeling.

"I love you, Adam."

Lawrence loves me. Dr. Lawrence Gordon loves me and has loved me for twelve years.

I may not always show it, but I've never stopped feeling like the luckiest non-effeminate gay man on earth.

* * *

I listen to the sound of the shower running as I pull out the grill and grab the hamburger patties from the refrigerator. It's our tradition on this day – burgers and beer in bed while watching old James Dean movies. Adam loves them. Back when we were still getting to know each other, it was a surprise to me to see just how non-stereotypical Adam really was. The beautiful photographs he takes still astound me. We have them hanging all around our apartment. I look up from the stove for a moment to admire my favorite photograph- the sunset over central park. He beams with pride whenever he see's it and that alone makes me love it too. But I know that something more than a simple sunset lies in the photograph. It's him. The beauty inside of him is simply reflected onto the camera lens. This is Adam at his most basic existence – the parts of him he hides from everybody but me.

The parts that make me love him even more.

I hear the sizzle of the burgers and look back down. I flip them again and smile when I hear the shower turn off. A few minutes later I have breakfast plated and ready to go. But I stop before picking them up and taking them to the bedroom. I stop because I feel his dark eyes watching me.

"Before you say anything, I know we agreed no gifts this year. But I just thought…"

He doesn't let me finish. Instead, he is, suddenly, next to me and kissing me fiercely. I feel the tears on his cheek as our faces touch and I run my hands through his hair with overwhelming emotion.

When he pulls away I see that he definitely is crying. And he is holding my anniversary present to him- the framed photograph he took of Diana, himself, and me at our favorite spot in central park. The sun is setting behind us. I begged him to set the timer on the camera so that the whole family could be in the picture.

"I love you, Lawrence. I'm sorry that I didn't get you anything…"

I cup his face in my hands and lean my forehead against his. I'm crying too. When he cries I cry.

"It's ok, Adam. You've already given me so much over the last twelve years. I couldn't ask for anything more."

He gives me one of those classic Adam smiles and leans back, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt in such a childish way that that it makes me smile too.

"Fuck Lawrence, why are you always making me cry, huh?" He hates crying in front of me, always has.

I lean in and quickly kiss him on the head, still wet from his shower. I try to keep from laughing at his weak attempts to cover up his emotions.

"Adam, you are the most rebellious gay man I know. But I love you anyway." I pause and pick up the plates in front of me. "You ready or what?"

He smiles at me and runs his hand through his hair in that way he always does when he's nervous.

"Let's do this." He replies and leads the way towards the bedroom. "Hey, do you think after the movie we can go the park?"

I can't contain my happiness around him. It's impossible. Just like I can't deny him anything on this day – our day. It's not Jigsaw's day -it's our day. We've reclaimed it every year for twelve years now by continuing to be together, love each other, and do what makes us happiest.

Today we will go the park. Because that will make Adam happy and when he is happy, so am I.


End file.
